Friday the 13th

I’ve never been superstitious about Fridays or 13s, so I wasn’t real concerned that my Novasure procedure was scheduled for that day, I was just looking forward to getting it over with. And actually, there are all kinds of ways it could have been worse, so I guess I’m still not superstitious, because the Stupid didn’t happen on the actual day, did it, that’s just when I found out about it.

So far, so good

Well, the operation seems to have gone all right, though I also thought that at this stage after the last one. Another polyp, this one 1-2 cm in size, has been removed, and I am the somewhat unnerved owner of an IUD. You hear so many stories about them, and so few of the stories are happy ones.

Anyway. Still keeping fingers crossed. And look, I can see the Dom from my window!

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it gets better

On Wednesday the nurse said the gynecologist would call us the next morning, so at 10:30 I called her and said “he hasn’t called, you said he’d call, WHY HASN’T HE CALLED?” She assured me that DrBob’s number was on his to-do list, and DrBob headed off to work with his celephone. He called me a few hours later to say that I could go in on Monday and the doctor (the same gynecologist I’d already seen – that doesn’t happen often, I don’t think) would do an endoscopy (fancy talk for “a look around in there”), remove any polyps, and put in an IUD that should inhibit further polyp growth for at least a few weeks, and then we could schedule the ablation for next year. (Actually, while he was telling me this, the hospital called and told me the same thing. Good thing we have a lot of phones.)

it gets worse

Right, now that I’ve started this, I should keep it up, eh? So I finally got to see a gynecologist on Tuesday in Zeist, and he was very nice and agreeable so I decided not to open up the can of whoopass I’d brought along. First mistake, I guess. Anyway, I had my first-ever water ultrasound! Um, I do not recommend it, it leaves one feeling distinctly… leaky.

Arg. Bleh.

It seems I can do One Thing per day. Friday I did the shopping and made dinner, which sounds like two things but they’re so closely related that they only count as one. It worked. I felt triumphant, and totally let it go to my head.

On Saturday, I took the Sniglet to Taekwondo and sat dozing in a chair for 40 minutes before taking him home. THEN I got a wild hair and went to knitting – that’s right, I sat at a table in a cafe and knitted with other people. I know, crazy, right? Must have been, because immediately afterward I went home and slept for five hours.

In which it gets icky

Apparently I have something Medical going on, and I’ve been posting cryptic status updates on Facebook – not because I want to be cryptic, but because I want to be brief. But people are getting all WTF on me, so here is the whole thing, except I still want to be brief so I keep editing out the editorializing.

So yeah, that.

think of it as a gap year

Hey! Didja miss me? Egad, I don’t even know where to start after so long. I have this job, see, which requires communicating with people a LOT, and so I’ve been putting all my writing-fu in there, for over a year. I know, real writers have unlimited fu. That is why I am not a real writer. But, you know, stuff happens, and as I get more and more people on Facebook, maybe some of that stuff isn’t… maybe some things shouldn’t… oh all right. Maybe my co-workers don’t want to hear about my uterus, is what I’m getting at. Besides, my Facebook status updates keep getting longer and longer.

So I’m back. To vent, to muse, to offer half-thought-out political opinions with all the sense edited out of them in the interest of brevity, to complain bitterly about a country that is gracious enough to let me live here and shower me with decent weather even in December – whoa, shower: that was a wholly unintentional pun, sorry. I’ll try to check in at least once a week, and try to keep each entry about One Thing.

Song du jour of the day: Redemption Song, by Playing for Change. Happy Third Advent, y’all. It’s not really a Christmas tune I suppose, but the whole Christian story is about redemption, so maybe it should be.

ain’t all bad

Yesterday we rode our bikes to Zeist! About 18 km in all, just me and the Sniglet. It was the first really nice day this year, and we stopped for french fries and salad and saw lots and lots of countryside. Um, and some freeway…

Actually, Jack, the Sniglet doesn’t usually cry at school, that was new. Usually he gets red and growls and clenches his fists and makes threats, and if you push him too far he opens up a serious can of whoopass. And I’m not defending the whoopass, I’m just saying it’s not a spontaneous event. It is triggered by behavior that I think is also unacceptable. So from the teacher’s side, you know, yay, he didn’t beat the soup out of someone this time. But the behavior that makes him want to, continues unabated.

I haven’t heard back from the teacher yet. She emails a lot less often since I called her a Liar McFlamey-pants to her face.

What? The Dutch are supposed to be plain-spoken. I didn’t think she’d be that upset…

Song du jour of the day: Holiday in Spain, by Bløf & Counting Crows

overview

It’s a really long story, which is why I haven’t tackled it, and every time something else happens, the story gets longer. Basically, this Taalschool (language-school) was established to help foreign children learn Dutch and adapt to Dutch society so they can fit into regular Dutch schools, is what I was told. I was also told – by the director – that students can’t switch to their new at any old time, only at Christmas and summer. When I thought the Sniglet would start in September and transfer to a real school in January, I was okay with it. But this is his second full year at what is basically a separate-but-equal school for icky foreigners, and they told us lie after lie to convince us to keep him there, and to put him in a class that we knew was the wrong choice but they led us to believe we had no other choice and now they want him to go into therapy because he reacts badly to being picked on by the kids in his class, who are all 12. Or 13. And he’s 10. I hate. This school. I hate the lies they tell us, and the lies they tell themselves so they can continue to believe they are good people while screwing over little kids.

There will be more detail later, but it’s after midnight and writing that paragraph has made me unutterably weary.

Song du jour of the day: Miniature Disasters, but K.T. Tunstall

an email to a teacher

Hi Ms Teacher,

I’m sorry it took so long to respond to your message, but I had to think about what I wanted to say. I understand that from your point of view, it is better for the Sniglet to react with tears rather than explosions when his classmates try to provoke him. I’m not sure I agree, but let’s leave that for now.

Of greater concern to me is that his classmates are still trying to provoke him. I won’t say these confrontations are never his fault, but I don’t think they’re always his fault either. As I understand it, part of the Taalschool’s mission is to teach children proper social behavior – not just how best to react to being goaded, but also that goading people is wrong. As the youngest member of the Schakelklas[*] he is both less able to handle this kind of attention from the other children, and more likely to attract it. So, while I appreciate the [anger-management] coaching for the Sniglet, and I am happy to concede that he needs it, I would also like to know whether you are taking steps to stop the other children picking on him, or whether you are placing the entire burden of responsibility on the smallest pair of shoulders in the class.

To summarize: until he can be with children his own age, I think the Sniglet deserves a little extra protection. I’d like to know what specific steps you are taking in this direction.

I look forward to hearing from you.
Regards,
Alala Mamabear

* Schakelklas = transition class for secondary school, so usually 12-year-olds.